Lost
by toestastegood
Summary: [Slash] The Doctor’s lost. Jack keeps him anchored. Fluffiness. [JackDoctor]


A/N : Slash. Deal.

I don't own them. Pity that, eh?

A semi-sequel to 'Gone', but can be read as a stand alone. 'Gone' just sets up the start of their relationship.

* * *

The Doctor's lost.

One day, he knows he's going to wake up without the comforting heat of Jack's body beside him. He knows that he won't always be able to drift off to sleep with Jack's rhythmical breaths sounding in his ears. He won't fall asleep with the taste of Jack still in his mouth, spent and exhausted but utterly delighted. One day, he's going to have to sleep in an empty bed again.

He thinks that might kill him. It's probably over-dramatic, but he really thinks it might. When Jack's gone, the Doctor doesn't think he'll know how to cope. And Jack _will _be gone, eventually. He'll leave or he'll die. Humans are too fragile to stick around in this lifestyle for long. Too fragile.

A rustle of bed sheets and Jack turns around, eyes still heavy from sleep. The Doctor is struck, not for the first time, by just how beautiful Jack is. This uneasily twists his insides, as he knows that some day Jack's going to meet someone just as beautiful as he is and wonder what the hell he's doing with a 900-year-old time lord.

Jack's hand touches his hip underneath their covers, and travels slowly up his side. A light touch, a gentle touch, but it sets the Doctor on fire all the same. His hearts speed up, his mouth goes dry. "You're brooding again," Jack observes, shifting forwards and pressing a soft kiss to the Doctor's shoulder.

"I'm not brooding." The Doctor protests, but Jack raises an eyebrow. "I'm thinking. There's a difference."

"Not with you," Jack sighs and rolls onto his back. Hoisting himself up onto one elbow, the Doctor reaches over to run a hand over the angles of Jack's face. His touch is gentle, delicate, a contrast to the finger-shaped bruises he left on Jack's hips just the night previously. He's always too rough with Jack. He leaves bite marks, bruises, red welts behind on that perfect skin.

Jack said he didn't mind, the first time the Doctor saw the fading bruises and apologised for them. He said he liked a little bit of pain, but even now the Doctor can't quite forgive himself for it. And it happens. Every. Single. Time. No matter how gentle and caring he starts off, he always loses control whenever he thinks that, tomorrow, Jack might not be there with him.

"I can't lose you, Jack." He's not good at this, not good at sharing his emotions and thoughts, but he feels that he has to say it aloud.

An unreadable smile spreads on Jack's face after a few moments, and the Doctor is once again bewildered. He feels like he's never going to understand what goes on in Jack's head; it's all just so alien, so human. "Whoever said anything about losing me, Doc?" Jack rolls over and pushes the Doctor back down onto the bed, straddling his hips. "I'm here now, aren't I?"

The Doctor has so many arguments on his mind, but Jack's soft lips against his, and a confident tongue over his own blanks his head, for a few moments. Jack's good at that, at making him forget. He knows just what to say, just where to touch. He always knows just what to do to block dark thoughts from the Doctor's head. And that's good, that's just what the Doctor needs.

The Doctor's vaguely aware of the pathetic whimper he makes when Jack pulls back, but he can't care. If they'd been in public, been in front of Rose, he'd have been embarrassed, but they're not. They're alone, and they're in their room, and he can be as pathetic and needy and desperate as he wants. Jack won't judge or laugh at him.

Well… no. Jack laughs at him frequently. But that doesn't matter. It's not malicious, it's just Jack. Just Jack's perfect laugh, Jack's perfect smile.

The Doctor sometimes thinks he was better off before Jack came along. Before he found himself with an obsession in his lap and a Time Agent in his bed. He feels out of his depth; there's nothing the Doctor can show Jack. He's not new to time travel, he isn't wowed and awed by the stars and strange planets. He knows what he's doing.

Maybe that's the reason that it's Jack in his bed, Jack in his lap, instead of Rose. Rose is still a child, still ooh-ing and ah-ing over two-headed aliens and still going starry eyed every time the Doctor shows her something new. The Doctor doesn't _have _to worry about Jack, because Jack has experience at this. Of course, that doesn't stop the Doctor's concerns, but it helps to stem them.

Jack's fingers are skimming over his skin again, touching him in places that feel so good. His breath shortens and his eyes flutter closed. The voice that breathes so quietly by his ear is a shock. "How long do we have?"

It takes him a while to drum up a reply, because with Jack's lips by his ear and those butterfly fingers on his chest it's hard to get his brain to think right. "Long enough," Hands on Jack's hips, and the Doctor rolls them over so he's on top and looking down. Grinds down, and slams their lips together again.

He's growing rougher now, more forceful and insistent. Jack's butterfly touches are gone, faint memories imprinted on his skin. Memories he'll savour after, memories that will make his mouth dry and make him yearn for more. But now, now he can't stop for memories. Pushing Jack down hard against the mattress, a demanding kiss. He only pulls back when he realises that his hands are too tight on Jack's shoulders, that there are going to be _more _bruises there now.

"Seriously. Rose'll be up by now." Jack's voice is a little ragged, which the Doctor notes with a touch of pride. He's done that, just as it's him who is the cause of Jack's current erection. The light flush to Jack's cheeks is his doing too.

It's hard to look down at Jack and realise that this body, that this man, is _his_. Maybe not in public, because Jack still flirts harmlessly with anything possessing a pulse, and they'd decided that it wasn't fair on Rose if they were all over each other during the daylight hours. But, in here, in their room, in private, Jack belongs one hundred per cent to the Doctor. He likes that thought. he likes it a lot.

"She won't mind," The Doctor states confidently, though he knows that she will mind. She probably wouldn't say anything, especially after making so many claims about how happy she is for the pair of them and how much she supports their relationship – or something to that effect, the Doctor had been a little distracted by the Wewark that had been trying to kill them all at the time – but she'd mind. She'd mind and she'd pout and she'd sulk all day. Teenagers have a habit of doing that.

Despite this, the Doctor can't bring himself to tear away from Jack just yet. Just a few minutes, a few hours, a few days and he'll be ready. Maybe. But definitely not right now.

"She _cried _last time." Jack points out, in response to the whole 'Rose-not-minding' thing.

Rose cried? Yeah, that seemed to happen a lot, but the Doctor would remember her crying because of _him_. Right? Except…last time she'd hoarded herself away in her room for the whole day, and it had been Jack that had gone to deal with her, to talk to her. Because Jack's human, and the Doctor really isn't. He looks human enough, but he just…he just doesn't understand how they think sometimes. Which means that he isn't really well suited to comforting people.

"That was last time. This is this time," The Doctor protests as he releases Jack's shoulders and instead runs his hands down that smooth expanse of chest. Now that he isn't being clamped down onto the bed, Jack rises up onto his elbows. The movement doesn't stop the Doctor's slow, exploring touches, but it gives Jack the opportunity to watch that roaming hand, almost in a trance.

He watches Jack's throat pulse as he swallows, and listens intently to hear his breath hitching. There's a gasp as he drags his nail over a nipple, and he's rewarded by Jack's hips jerking up of their own accord. "Well maybe this time we - " Jack breaks off momentarily, a throaty groan briefly replacing words. The Doctor smirks, raising one hand from Jack's chest to trace his jaw again. "We…should learn from our previous mistake?"

"Mistake?"

Jack seems to sense his own mistake, but it widens his grin. "Yeah, mistake." He reaffirms, and the Doctor loves him just a little bit more in that moment. He doesn't understand why, but he doesn't have to. His hearts clench, his own smile forms, and he's suddenly happy. Confident.

"Fine, mistake." He concedes, but doesn't remove his hand from Jack's jaw. Perfect. Perfection. And he almost lost him; came so close, too close. Too damn close, and it isn't fair that he has to worry like this. His smile slips, and he's about to start brooding again, when Jack's face shifts, turns, and his lips gently brush the skin of the Doctor's hand.

"Uh-uh, no brooding on my watch, alright?" It's a command, not a request, and usually the Doctor would be stubborn about it. However, it's a command the Doctor doesn't mind obeying. Still, at some point he's going to have to remind Jack who's in charge of the TARDIS.

"Alright."

"Good. Now that that's settled, you feel like making a few more mistakes?" Jack suggests, and chuckles. The sound vibrates along the Doctor, and he's convinced he's never felt more like making a mistake.

Rose won't mind, he tells himself. Rose doesn't care. Rose doesn't cry.

He wonders, briefly, if Rose thinks she's been replaced – not in his bed, as she never made it that far, but in his heart – but those thoughts are lost the second Jack's hand grips his cock with a sure hand. Jack's touch is heaven.

He's never felt so human. He's never felt so home.


End file.
